I’ll tell you right up front that it’s something I never do. I’m content for the most part to follow rules like a good sheep. But I’ve always wondered about you rebel types…so tell me some stories, and answer some questions, if you will:
Why did you do it?
What was the outcome?
What do you think about rule-makers?
What do you think about rule-followers?
Have your opinions on this subject been different at different points in your life?
I have A.D.D. and have always had a difficult time following through with just about everything. When I actually went to graduate school, and went on to advanced degrees I was constantly told I would never succeed. I was a jokster, a farceuse, always planning always carrying out some sort of trickery.
Why did I do it? I got bored quickly. I have over the years learned to quell my desire to be malicious, and learned to deal with being an adult who has A.D.D. And I no longer do the really “silly” things I used to do. But I think about it alot! 
It’s interesting, I was at times ridiculed by various catechists who thought I was not taking their classes seriously. After successfuly defending my dissertation, I was laughing and having lunch with them. Go figure.
What were the outcomes of my various chicanery? It varied. I have never been arrested. If that helps.
My view on the subject at hand? The older I get the more I learn to foster my inner child, mind you I said foster, not let loose. I will always be a trickster, I’ve just learned to do it with a little more tact as of late.
I don’t do a lot of defying in everyday life, but in my junior year of high school I had an absolutely positively useless physics teacher. She was really young, maybe 23 or something, and I believe it was her first teaching job. But she didn’t teach. She was the girl’s basketball coach and would put up a transparency of problems at the beginning of every class with little to no explanation and then walk around the rest of the time schmoozing with the sporty girls and their boyfriends.
This might have been okay if the socializing was quiet and calm enough that those who wanted to work (and it was more than just me; there were a couple college-bound kids who needed physics) could do so. Instead, it was utter madness. After a couple of a weeks of this, my friend/study buddy and I raised our hands to ask for permission to work in the cafeteria next door, where it was quiet. Denied–and she went back to yakking. So I turned to my friend and said, “I can’t work here. You wanna leave?” He said yes. We stood up, calmly gathered our things and silently left. She was mad. Maddy mad mad. I thought we might burst into flames before we got out the door.
100% out of character for both of us. We went straight to the principal’s office to report the incident (he was out) and then went to the cafeteria and worked, which is where he found us at the end of the period, wracked with guilt and sick with the certainty we would be expelled. He just said that we shouldn’t have left class, but agreed that we should be able to work in class.
The next day in class we got a seating chart when there hadn’t been one before (and I’m sure it was a complete coincidence that my friend and I were as far away from each other as physically possible). The whole class had to spend the entire period writing a paper about why students should be respectful in the classroom. I wrote what memory tells me was a firm yet polite paper about how respect goes both ways, and I expect a teacher to respect me enough to give me a reasonable learning environment. Nothing else happened, though. She started teaching, sort of.
But I got the last laugh–she was fired at the end of the school year. My school was desperate for teachers, too. The moral of the story? I’m really glad I did it. I do respect authority, but only when it’s wielded benevolently. Anything else and I’m no longer bound to respect the social contract at all.
When I was in fourth grade, (age 8 or so) I had this brutal teacher. Looking back, I guess she wasn’t all bad. She was at least lively and engaging and she did teach well.
I don’t even know where our, say, feud began. I know she had all kinds of rules that I thought were ridiculous. We had to have a certain kind of loose leaf, it couldn’t have rounded corners or be college rule and it had to have holes and so on. There were a bunch of rules about the layout of the page and the kind of pencil we used and the ways we signed our names and the way we wrote our twos and sevens and zeroes and… all kinds of picky little rules. And if we broke one rule, we had to rip our paper in half and re-do it.
And she would lose my papers. It seems like the most ridiculous thing in the world looking back. Like why would a grown woman sabatoge an eight-year-old child like that? And it must have been deliberate because she did it all the time and she never lost anyone else’s papers. So there ended up being a whole ordeal where, of course, nobody believed me and I stuck to my story… so I had to have her sign a reciept when she took my paper. I still have no idea why she would do this to me. I never acted up, she had no beef with my parents, I never killed her dog or anything. I have no idea.
Near the end of the year, I was SO sick of it all. re-doing Math papers again and again, being accused of lying and slacking off, having other teachers check my tests after I got them back because she’d mark things wrong that were correct, etc.
So one day, I got a LONG and very tedious math assignment. I took it home and realized that the only paper we had was college ruled. I begged my mom to go out and get me the right paper but she said it would be fine and I should just do my work. I cried and insisted that my teacher wouldn’t accept it on college rule paper and my mom said (and she was correct) “that’s stupid.” and told me to just do my work. So I did.
I brought it into school the next day and tried to explain to my teacher that we didn’t have the proper paper in the house and my mom wouldn’t get new (and I, at age eight, wasn’t exactly allowed to go to the store on my own) and she just shook her head and said, “I can’t take this. rip it up.”
So I ripped it in half. and then in half again. and again and again and then I threw it in her face and burst into tears, then ran down to the office and announced that I was in trouble. Another teacher was in the office at the time and I told her what happened. She laughed and said sometimes teachers aren’t perfect and she was proud of me for standing up for myself. Then she took me to wash the tears off my face and took me back to class. Later that day, they called my parents and had them go talk to my teacher.
They came home and I asked if I was grounded and my mom said, “no. just don’t do it again.”
The teacher and I mostly stayed out of each other’s hair for the rest of the year. I found out later that my parents didn’t ground me because they thought she deserved what she got.
My college roommate eluded the police (DUI) at about 1:30AM, parked his car about a half block from our house, then hid in the bushes across the street.
I was sleeping in a recliner in the front room when I saw the blue lights flicking through the windows, and two cops looking around in my backyard. I stepped out of the back door, and asked if I could help them. They said they were looking for Dumb Ass, whose name and address they got by running his plates. They asked me who I was, so I told them, and showed them my ID. They asked if he was in the house, and I said no, I hadn’t seen him for several hours. They demanded that I let them into the house to search for him, but, as there was four ounces of pot on the coffee table, I declined.
They made all sorts of threats, but I figured (correctly) that they must have not seen him ditch the car, or else they could have used the “hot pursuit” justification to search the house. I told them if they wanted to search the house, they would have to get a warrant. We went round and round for 45 minutes, but I wasn’t budging. Finally, I just told them, “I think we are through here, if I see him; I will tell him you stopped by.” Then I went back in the house. A few minutes later, they left. Then I started breathing again.
Turns out, Dumb Ass was watching the whole thing from across the street. The next day, he turned himself in and was charged with reckless driving and eluding arrest. But he was found not guilty at trial, because the cops could not prove who was driving the car. I made him pay for that several times over.
I respect authority when it is valid. Petty bureaucrats and would-be martinets instantly raise my hackles. I don’t respect anyone who hasn’t earned it. That doesn’t mean I’m impolite (I see no reason to piss people off unless it’s necessary), but I’m not going to bow and scrape just because the guy behind the counter has an inflated ego. 
The best example was probably back in high school. I had a real petty principal, and he didn’t like me. I’m not sure why; in hindsight, I think it was because I’d successfully defended my proposition for an Independent Study course, which I then became the only student to make use of. He figured it was an excuse to slack, which was, admittedly, partially true, but I studied as well.
Anyway. He sent for me during one of my normal classes, right before school would have let out. I went to the office. And waited. And waited some more. Finally, I stood up and gathered my things, which got the receptionists notice.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she said.
“Home.”
“You can’t. You need to wait for the principal.”
“Look, lady. He sent for me. I did not ask to see him. If he’s too busy to see me right now, then he can send for me during normal school hours when he has more time. I’m not going to waste my day waiting around for him.” (I seem to recall paraphrasing something by Heinlein, but for the life of me I can’t remember what)
“You can’t do that!”
“Am I in detention?”
“Well, no…”
“Goodbye!” And I left.
Mom was on the phone when I got home. “Uh-huh. Oh really? Well, perhaps you’d care to share with me why you were calling him to the office? Hmm? Oh? Ok, I look forward to your call. Bye now.” She looked at me and winked. “He had to take another call awfully sudden, but he’ll get back to me as soon as possible.”
Mom was the best. She used to be a cop and never failed to back me up when I was faced with unjustified crap. Of course, I got it twice as bad when the crap WAS justified, but I learned quick to make those occasions few and far between.
So, in summary:
Why did I do it? Because he was being a prick.
What was the outcome? He pretty much left me alone the rest of the year… and I went up a notch or two in my classmates opinions (or so it seemed, anyway).
What do I think about rule-makers? If they’re honest and follow the rules themselves, I have no issue with them. Rules are necessary, as is knowing when to bend or break them. They are the glue that keeps civilization from falling apart. Perhaps the most infuriating thing of all is watching someone break the rules without valid cause and have nothing happen to them.
What do I think about rule-followers? It depends. Most of the time I have no beef with them, and am one myself. However, if one follows the rules blindly, without thinking, then I will lose most if not all of my respect for said person, and mark them – in my mind – as someone to be careful around. They’re not to be trusted if they can’t think for themselves (or choose not to).
Have my opinions changed? I don’t think so. They crystallized at some point in junior high or so, I think, and while I’ve done a lot of what-if scenario thinking and such since then, my core beliefs as listed here have not changed.
I ran across a website a while back that had what it called an explanation of the rational anarchist. While I don’t agree with everything in it, I do identify with quite a bit (I can’t find the link now, or I’d post it). In essence, I believe everyone – myself especially – is responsible for his own actions and must weigh every choice in relation to that. Everything is a choice. If I choose to follow the rules, it’s because that is the correct path for me at that time. If I choose to break them, same deal. Generally speaking, the correct thing to do is follow the rules, but there ARE exceptions, and recognizing those exceptions is important.
I’m SUCH a rebel, I know.
Rebel? Me? Honey, if I was more of a goody-two-shoes I’d be a picture in a book. That’s often my problem, actually.
Why did I do it?
In general, my “rebellions” haven’t even been such. What many teachers and bosses interpreted as “defiance to their authority” was actually the need to understand. If you’re explaining something and you’re going to ask about it in the exam and you’re telling me it’s important because I’m going to be using it for many years, I need to understand!
A few have come from my sense of justice.
Example: my school was girls-only for over 200 years (it celebrated its 300th recently), except for preschool, where we had boys.
Pre-co-ed, girls wore the same uniform preschool-12. Boys wore the same uniform they’d be wearing 1-12 at the Jesuits.
When we went co-ed I was in 2nd grade. Girls stayed in the same uniform, but boys weren’t required to wear one. We didn’t know the words “gender-based discrimination,” but it still pissed us quite a lot; those who wanted to look purdy, because they weren’t allowed to; those who wanted to be able to play games, because the damn skirt was horribly uncomfortable and we’d get yelled at if we flashed our underies. And it itched!
We were not required to wear the uniform on so-called “half-days”, when the school let out early. This was an unwritten tradition, it was not spelled out in the rules.
8th grade, new principal. She was also new in town. On the Christmas half-day, our “wearing color” caught her by surprise. For the Easter half-day (Holy Wednesday), she decreed that it would not be allowed, but this decree was given out on Holy Tuesday by the PA system and at 6:15. We’d left at 5:45, except for a couple bints who’d been kissing teacher ass. These two called their friends, who called their friends… and on Holy Wednesday, out of my year of 160 (50:50), only 4 girls wore colors.
We were brought to the Principal (only the 8th graders). She started telling us this was unacceptable, etc.
Now, one reason the 4 of us weren’t “in” was that we’d never seen the point to closing our mouths. We pointed out this was traditionally a “colors” day.(1) She pointed out it was not one legally. One of the other girls pointed out that I was more in uniform than most of our classmates (the only non-uniform item I was wearing was a long blue skirt that didn’t itch or fly all over the place when I walked fast; some of the other girls had been wearing color-anything-but-the-skirt). The principal said this was not about the others. I pointed out SHE was not wearing HER uniform, therefore I considered she did not have the authority to tell ME how to dress so long as I was decent. She slapped me. Once. She fully intended to slap me on the return as well, but she read in my eyes that I was willing to take one slap: two would have seen her in the hospital by the time we got separated. She sent us home to change, except for the one who was from out of town, who got to stay in detention for the rest of the morning, yeehaw.
My mother sided with the Principal, of course. I mean, my parents had been the only ones who hadn’t presented a complaint when a teacher tried to abuse several students including me the previous year… to them, if a teacher did it, it was right.
[1] Navarra has a tradition of derecho consuetudinario. Written laws are seen as the writing-down of tradition; tradition takes precedence to law both time-wise and importance-wise. If tradition says A and the law says B, smack that scribe and rewrite the law.
Navarra also has the tradition that laws should be changed if they don’t make sense any more. Still, our written laws have been changed only three times in about 1000 years, which is how long since they first got written; the first time, to simplify the tax structure; the second time, for general clarification since many centuries of inmigration had lead to changes in tradition; the third time in 1979, to make sure our Fueros fitted well with the new Constitution of Spain.
Who could, traditionally, initiate a change in a law? Anybody who could speak in Cortes.
Who could, traditionally, speak in Cortes? Eeeeh… anybody who wasn’t in prison, pretty much! Christians, Moors, Jews; men, women; even, on occasion, someone who would generally have been considered too young was heard; people who’d been living in the country for generations; recent settlers; pilgrims and other passer-bys (This rule was not accepted by Philip V, but well, I don’t think there’s a single Spanish region where they like him)
Rule-makers should have such things as practical sense, but too often they don’t. Ruler-writer-downs are slightly better 
I’m a rule-follower! But when the rules contradict each other, they need to be clarified. When they can’t be kept, they need to be changed. When they’re plain stupid, they need to be challenged. Challenging the rules is part of the rules. Now if I can get it through my thick skull that The Rest Of The World isn’t so sensible… 
My opinions have gotten bigger words as my vocabulary and knowledge of where I got these notions grew, but the essence of them remains the same.
Out of time addition:
8th grade was '83-'84. For the '95-'96 course (when some of the girls who’d been slightly ahead of me were now in the PTA), the rules got changed:
My single biggest example comes from my teenage years, growing up with my parents. Following an argument over something stupid*, my parents took my computer, to prove a point. Now, I had worked for that computer. I’d had a part-time job for several years at that point, and I had been the one that purchased it, with my own money. Except, as my parents pointed out, as a minor, I didn’t really, because I couldn’t own property.
So, 15 minutes later, every car key in the house (and the back-ups they kept in their purse and wallet respectively) went missing.
Mom and Dad: “Robert, where are the car keys?”
Robert: “Where’s my computer?”
Mom and Dad: “Did you take our car keys?”
Robert: “Of course not. I can’t take things, remember? I am unable to own property. You must have mislaid them.”
It continued in that vein for about an hour.
Now, would I do this again now, were I not a hormone-addled teenager and a similar situation come up?
I dunno. It worked. My parents gave me back my computer, I gave them back the car keys, and from then on we adopted a very Patrician/University relationship (I did whatever they told me to do, and they didn’t tell me to do anything.) The realization that A) we could make each other’s lives Hell until I turned 18, and that B) neither of us wanted this did improve my relationship with my parents significantly.
I think there are two kinds of rules, myself; those you bend, and those you break. Some rules (like don’t play in the street) have valid meaning. These rules, because they have valid meaning, should be exact. If they are important enough to listen to, then they are important enough to phrase such that you cannot properly twist them. Ergo, you should be able to engage in complex verbal and logical chicanery with such rules, and still fail to miss their intended point.
In addition, there are rules with no valid meaning behind them, or rules that do not follow from an enforcement of said meaning. These, you have no obligation to follow.
*I assume. Have really no idea after this time.
I notice most of these stories involve teachers. I wonder what that means?
I have several such stories. Maybe that helps explain why I became such a non-conformist bastard in my middle age. The first time I remember openly rebelling was my sophmore year in high school. In my freshmen year, I was on the FFA team competition (I can’t remember what it was called, but it was like trivial pursuit of FFA lore). I took first place in the first round and third place in the second round, got my picture in the paper, and got some plaque or ribbon or something. Anyway, the next year, the teacher told me I had better start studying again. Now, bear in mind, this is optional, extra-curricular stuff. His big mistake was assuming I would do it and not asking me if I would do it. I told him no. That resulted in a long stare-down (in class), during which he asked me what I had to do that was more important. I gave him an answer that was effectively: “That’s none of your business.”
A rebel was born.
I have another good one, but it will have to wait until I have more time.
The petty dictators at my high school were going to ban blue jeans. Yes, kiddies, if you thought adults were irrational today, just try to imagine a time when they felt so threatened by kids wearing jeans that they would try to outlaw them. The students staged a sit-in protest in the gym. My father made clear the hospital visit that would result if I took part in the demonstration. (This was not entirely rhetorical, that very likely would have been the outcome.) So I “covered” it as a news event, and phoned reports in to the news director at a radio station in the next city. The following day, the matter was dropped, and I received no punishment. It was never mentioned again.
I wish I could. The story has achieved damn near cult status among my friends. However, there’s some things just best not mentioned on the internet.
Maybe something very similar happened to some guy you heard about this one time? wink wink, nudge nudge
I defy Authority all the time. Why, just yesterday I made a stand and declared at the top of my lungs that I was NOT going to take out the trash until the race I was watching was over!
If that was ok with her, I mean.
Well, nowadays I still challenge rules constantly (I actually get paid for it). Many times I get a positive reaction (in the last three weeks, my team has changed about 10 “rules” based on my suggestions); when I get crap like “oh, we can not do that! It’s not what the procedure says!” “OK, can you make a note of my suggestion, for whomever reviews the procedures next?” “But the procedures can not be changed!” “Maybe not by you, but I’m quite sure somebody can, will you please make a note?” “No, no, the procedures, they can not be changed!”… well, I’m old enough to just file it under There Ain’t Enough Rolleyes (unless I’m specifically being paid to change that specific procedure which apparently came down from Mount Sinai cradled in the loving arms of Moses).
Oh, but if you’re ISO 9000 (or 9001 or SEI or whatever) compliant, you have to follow the procedures. :rolleyes:
My other defiance story:
In college, differential equations class, the instructor established himself as a bully on the first day of class. I won’t bore you with the details; trust me on this. Anyway, all semester long, I keep my mouth shut. The room was an auditorium type room and he delighted in writing small and fast on the blackboard. One day, near, the end of the semester, I could not read the scribble on the far end of the board. I glanced around and noticed everybody else was glancing around at their neighbor’s notes because they couldn’t read it either.
I politely raised my hand and asked, “Do you mind reading that last equation again?”
He exploded, “Have you been in the class all semester?”
“Yes, I have, and I still can’t read it.”
The staredown begain. He blinked first. You could tell he was not accustomed to being challenged by a student. After about 30 seconds, he picked up where he left off. He didn’t repeat the equation, but he did move back to the center of the board and made a few snarky remarks.
I will give him credit, he didn’t flunk me. Maybe because he didn’t grade anything himself and he didn’t know my name.
No.
*Come on, I can’t believe that I was the first one in this thread to do that! *
“Lively and engaging” or not, she was a corking asshole. :mad:
In nursery school, I heard what I was sure was my little sister crying, and I wanted to go see about her, but the teacher would not let me leave the classroom area. So I left.
We were not, of course, supposed to climb the fence, but I did it anyway. (Too short to reach the little Y-shaped doohickey that keeps the gate closed). Walked home, across an 8-lane highway (crossing with the green light).
It’s been more or less like that ever since. I don’t seek out confrontations with authority, I just don’t consider any authority to outweigh my own and so occasionally there’s a difference of opinion.
Well, I defy authority and and authority always wins. Been doing it since I was a young kid.